local milk is a journal devoted to home cookery, travel, family, and slow living—to being present & finding sustenance of every kind. It’s about nesting abroad & finding the exotic in the everyday. Most of all it’s about the perfection of imperfections and seeing the beauty of everyday, mundane life.

No, they aren’t called such for their penchant for night-walking. The name is a point of debate, but from what I’ve read “hoe” referred to a griddle. Not as colorful as I’d hoped, but there you go. I fry mine up in a bacon slick cast iron or seasoned steel (a current favorite) skillet, and while they’re perfectly complete crispy & hot straight out of the grease-spitting frying pan, I’ve found that a generous spoonful of maple creme fraiche is not a down grade. It’s rare that a recipe works its way into my personal rotation. I’m boring like that. But these are destined to be a household staple along with spicy chocolate cake and ginger skillet greens. The holidays are fast upon us, and recipes like this (two bowls, one pan, minimal chopping) are the bread and butter of busy times. Looking forward to things like going to Charleston is the light at the end of the tunnel of the next few weeks of non-stop work. I try to never write about being busy in this space. Or stressed. Or deadlines, email, deadlines, panic attack. Because it’s a tired refrain. We’re all busy. We’re all stressed. And I feel like it’s my job to make this space a bastion of calm. Which, to anyone who knows me in real life, is riotously funny. I’m a tornado. A basket case. I move fast, talk faster. Gesticulate wildly. In my defense, I have a way of getting it done. But slowing down is actually hilariously difficult for me. I often joke that I’m “taking one for the team” and living fast so I can create inspiration in the hopes that other people will enjoy living slow. Truth.

But lately all that fast has got me to a grinding, unceremonious halt. I was wondering about the little myths we tell ourselves recently. Those refrains we repeat so often in our minds they start to seem like intractable truths. Mine is that to be happy & productive are the highest virtues, and that in order for me to be happy & productive I must never, ever look down. I imagine life as lived on a tight rope over an abyss. I smile and look dead ahead, unwavering. The fear, as the old metaphor goes, is that if I look down, I’ll fall. I spent ten years falling, and I don’t wear it well. Now that seas are calm, I expend a lot of energy (perhaps unnecessarily) trying to keep things that way. And by “things” I mean my brain. Trying to keep my mad, mad mind calm is a herculean effort. Because in every quiet crevice of each day it wanders, delinquent, to thoughts of vast complexity and to sharp teeth and black waters and so much flesh. So I work harder, turn up the radio. And tell myself to shut up.

Only recently have I started to doubt the wisdom of that. You can’t run from yourself forever. There has to be a happy medium between being the resident morbid eccentric amongst your friends and being some hilarious facsimile of your childhood ideal self. I will never deny the beauty in the darkness. It plugs into me. Electrifies me. Lights me up like Flood Town. I remember Flood Town. It’s a little backwater town around where I grew up in Georgia. And they used to do Christmas lights like no other. I think I went there with the boy I liked. I remember it that way anyway. That I went there with the pastor’s son when I was kid. With our families. And I just remember the lights and that it was where I wanted to be. The lights and everything else, the middle of nowhere, so pitch black. The anticipation made it as beautiful as the reality. I’m hungry for the anticipation, always the anticipation.

In the end, I’ve been gifted a life without, in my estimation, a single substantial care in the world except for my own neurosis and lousy time management skills. My overwhelming gratitude for the placid waters of my existence keeps me pretty upbeat. If you meet me, I’m a happy girl. A goofy, self-deprecating girl with an equally fortunate/unfortunate lack of filter. I’m nerdy and strangers make me sweat. But when I’m alone I just think. And think. I think about fingers prying my teeth apart sometimes. I think about language and pheremones and how stupid it is that you can’t manufacture certain feelings. How certain feelings are just like sup and peace. And you’re like hey, man! wait up!. And they’re like whatever. I think about magic a lot. I think about serpents and day dream about an albino pet snake. I think about believing in belief. And I think about tidal waves of energy crashing over me, rippling through me. I wonder at how blessed I am. I wonder at what on earth I mean by the word “blessed”. I steel myself against inevitable, unnamed future sorrows. I pray to the thing that’s face is the moon and the sea and warm blood and rough skin and finger nails and teeth. I pray to the fur and the weeds. I call on light years and prehistoric, pelagic creatures that mourn nothing. I pray for strength when I need it. I always need it. We all do. Because change is forever upon us. Hibernal months are upon us here in the South. Fires & festivals & dead cold. It’s a beautiful time of year. Southern gothic at it’s finest.

In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, baking powder, salt, and sugar.

In another small bowl, combine buttermilk, water, bacon fat, and crème fraîche or sour cream. Blend well. Add eggs, and mix until just combined.

Pour liquid into dry ingredients, and mix just until a thick batter has formed. Stir in scallions and bacon. To keep the hoecakes tender, avoid overmixing.

Heat oil and bacon fat in a cast-iron or other heavy skillet over medium to medium-high heat. Use about an eighth of a cup of batter for smaller cakes (I used a heaping tablespoon for these), or a quarter cup for larger ones. Cook them as you would pancakes, allowing them to fry on one side for about three minutes or until crisp and golden brown. Flip and cook for another couple of minutes. Replenish oil as needed, to maintain a generous film in the pan.

Batter will keep for a couple of days tightly covered in the refrigerator. If it seems too thick after storing, stir in a bit more buttermilk or water.

To serve, stir the maple syrup into the additional creme fraiche. Top the cakes with the creme and enjoy hot!

Oh Beth. I am going to “forgive” you for not having posted the deer meat recipe yet, just because of these words. You have just reminded me of my twenty years old self, twenty years down the line. I was that person, really, whose mind, when left alone and with nothing to do, would conjure up thoughts and ideas seemingly with nothing in common between them, going from flounderings of happiness to bouts of depression in a single second. And I am still that person, only nowadays I embrace the time and the silence that brings me thoughts. I used to feel I had to keep myself very busy, all the time, iddle hands, you know, so as not to become “unhealthy” or “abnormal” when compared to my peers, my friends, the people surrounding me. With age I have come to the conclusion that I do not do well with a fast paced life, fast living, stressful speed. I have forced myself to slow down, to allow my hands some idleness so that my thoughts could be heard by me. But one thing I have always, always faced full on and embraced, really, is darkness. Maybe I have a very different view of darkness from most people, maybe it’s the fact that I think about magic all the time, and the fact that to me magic is all around – we are just so busy we do not really notice it – and can be felt, and achieved and seen by anyone at all, maybe because my motto has always been “The night is full of magical possibilities” instead of “The night is full of terrors” I find that darkness has a beauty of its own, as much as light and bright colours. Grey is not sad, as far as I am concerned, nor dowdy, nor depressive, and I am always drawn to images that figure a lot of grey, and shadows, and darkness. More than your recipes – because I first came across you on Instagram and only after following you there for a while did I google for your blog – what has attracted me to your self as an artist was the use of shadows and of darkness and of grey and black and lack of cheery colours. I have all my life felt slightly ostracized by others because of my love for darkness and shadows, and whenever I come across people who use those so artfully, I am drawn to their work, immediately, and that was what happened in this case. THe fact that your recipes are scrumptious and yummy was just a bonus, really. I find you quite an interesting person, and it’s quite a joy reading your blog, it always puts a smile on my face, makes me feel inspired and with a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. There, I had to get this out aha. Now I’m going to read the recipe carefully.http://bloglairdutemps.blogspot.pt/

I can hardly bear to follow the thoughtful comment that precedes mine (by Miranda), but here it is. We can hardly expect our online presence to always be an inspiration and an oasis. If it is to be an honest reflection of ourselves, or even parts of us, we must be kinder to ourselves and allow bits of our lives (with all of its half-witted, busy, and stubborn reflections of us) to seep into the cyber world. So don’t feel bad – the “busy” version of your labour, the stream of consciousness and fast hot griddle cakes – are no less beautiful and inspiring than the laboured-over products and polished image. And we do not doubt your true happiness.

Beth, I think the other ladies said it all. I just want you to know that you have so much talent not only in your recipes and photography but also in your narrative. We can’t always be happy and upbeat — sometimes we have to have the lows to appreciate the highs. Take care and be you.

Beth, you are such a wonderful photographer and a beautiful writer! You’ve perfectly captured how I feel about my crazy brain and trying to calm it down and that maybe I should just stop for the beautiful things about to happen and maybe, just maaaaaybe, I should recognize that there is beauty in darkness. Thanks for the important reminder and for a beautiful start to my Wednesday.

So, the seventh image finally gets to Truth. What I love about this post and this thread is how bringing up the dark pulls us dark souls from the wings. A friend of mine said she wasn’t quite as anxious in her 30’s. No, wait, she said. She was still just as anxious, only, she had learned to grope through the pitch. (ps. Thanks for the admittance of the tornado/peace dichotomy. And your philosophy that undergirds this space in light of that feels like the right kind of prayer.)

Oh Beth, I am your ENFP sister. Like you, but EVEN MORE wild talking and gesticulating i’d bet. I am a fast mover and a big producer who is in love with the idea of the slow. To match your southern gothic, I have my northern woodland fairytale. Anyways, I admire your work and words. I’m probably going to come knocking on your door one day begging to be an intern, even if only for a week.

i can’t help but come back to your blog to see what’s being cooked up. Thank you for that! I just made spiced sweet potato pancakes and they reminded me of these. I love integrating unlikely ingredients in a pancake!! These look great!!!

One of my favourite things is an unusal use of bacon and I feel like you have really nailed it in the recipe here. I would also like to say that I am totally and utterly envious of your beautiful kitchen and seasoned steel pan.

What a brunch meal, I know this will feature on this weekends menu so thank you for the inspiration.

I recently watched an episode of Mind of a Chef where chef, Sean Brock (McCrady’s, Charleston) cooked a hoe cake on the back of a hoe -out in the fields. Makes sense when you think about it. Time for lunch, so garden tools = instant griddle:) Its a great series. (However, his kitchen isn’t as nice as yours!:)

I’m a pretty new reader here , but how you’ve expressed yourself.. I’m ill-put to try and type up a comment that says what I’m thinking, which is basically “Yes! You understand, and you say it, and it’s so.” I’ll never say that I feel your pain or struggles, because I don’t and never will– but my pain, my struggles are much the same. You’ve expressed some of the corners of my mind so well, and you’re a stranger. And to me.. I Just find something oddly comforting in the fact that someone out there thinks of the darker things, thinks of being happy and looking ahead, stresses about this.. that someone out there thinks and frets over the same things as I do.

dude, I am so glad that I was thinking about our trip to Charleston last year and wishing I was there instead of in 6 feet of Wisconsin white, because it led me to look up this recipe which in turn made me read your post, which I am sad to say I didn’t do the first time I made this recipe, but maybe that’s as it should be because I needed your words today and not a few months ago. I’m 38 with four kids and I still get bogged down in my own head, especially at this time of year. I don’t know if you even read these belated comments but wherever you are today I am thinking of you and grateful for your honesty.